A Mission of Love

Ellen was in high spirits as she set out to deliver flowers to her friend Mary, and sang as she went along. But, out of the blue, a wasp stung her in the arm, and what had been a sweet journey suddenly turned sour. Leaving aside the flowers, she sat down by the side of the road to inspect the damage. The spot in which she had been stung felt very sore, had turned red, and was swelling up alarmingly. As she sat there wincing with pain and feeling very sorry for herself, a passer-by came to her aid. ‘I know exactly how you feel. I’ve often been stung myself,’ said the passer-by. The stranger took out a jar of ointment and applied some of it to the wound. The ointment had a soothing effect on the wound, and soon Ellen was on her way again. However, as she went along, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the wound. Fortunately, the swelling subsided and the pain eased up. Along the way she met up with other travelers. She insisted on telling them about the wasp sting. With every telling, the wasp got more vicious and the wound more serious. Her confidants could see that she was very bitter about it. All of them tried to help her. ‘Ignore the whole thing,’ said one. ‘Bury it,’ said a second. ‘Treat it as if it never happened,’ said a third. And so it went on. Though her advisers used different expressions, their advice came to the same thing - forget the sting. This sounded like good advice and she grasped at it. She tried to forget the sting. However, memory is a strange thing. No matter how hard she tried, she could not forget. And every time she remembered, she felt a stab of pain. Eventually she had the good fortune to meet up with an old and wise friend by the name of Sheila. Naturally she opened her heart to her also. ‘Forget the whole thing? Why should you forget it?’ asked Sheila. The question surprised Ellen. She hesitated, then replied, ‘Everybody I meet tells me that I must forget it.’ ‘But it happened,’ Sheila insisted gently. ‘It’s part of the story of your journey. Besides, it’s not something to be ashamed of.’ ‘But every time I remember it, I feel the hurt all over again,’ said Ellen. ‘It’s how you remember it that matters,’ said Sheila. ‘You’re on a mission of love, aren’t you?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well then, don’t let the sting distract you from that. Above all, don’t let its poison diminish your love. Then when you arrive at your friend’s house, your gift will be all the more precious because you suffered a wound in delivering it.’ After they parted, Ellen reflected on what her friend had said. Gradually she came to see the sting in a new light. With that, the bitterness left her, and once again she found herself going along with a happy step. Jesus bore violent wounds on his body. He didn't hide his wounds. Nor was he bitter about them. Those wounds were an expression of love, and so they had a meaning. They were the mortal wounds the Good Shepherd picked up in caring for his sheep. If so, we, the followers of Christ, should see our own wounds and pain in this scope. Let’s see our past wounds not by removing them, but by giving them a new meaning.